


bush/maria 1

by romanticalgirl



Series: December Ficlets 2007 [27]
Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 12-08-07</p>
    </blockquote>





	bush/maria 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12-08-07

He walks in without knocking, knowing that she will not answer the door. Her mother is gone, no longer concerned with her now that there are not babies to be borne, now that the hold on Hornblower is nothing more than name. He makes his way back through the darkened rooms, easing into the bedroom as though he belongs there.

She is on the bed, staring at the ceiling as though there are answers there, something that could tell her why her babies are dead better than the platitudes of God’s will and better places. Bush never speaks of the children, never mentions them here or with Hornblower, never speaks their names save when he whispers Maria’s in her ear as he carefully unfastens the top buttons of her flannel nightgown.

There is no other noise between them as he undresses her. His large fingers make short work of the trail of buttons, unfastening them slowly. He has a code that he cannot touch her until they are all undone, a measure of control that he clings to, as all his other control is gone when he is with her. When they’re brushed aside and opened, he stares down at her bared body, taking in the full breasts and slightly swollen stomach, the signs of womanhood that arouse him more than they should, than he can admit. He feels himself grow hard looking at her, and leans in, needing to abate the rush of desire with contact, prolong it until it becomes something he can no longer ignore.

Her gaze shifts as his mouth brushes over hers, her eyes falling to his. It is the most she grants him until he has pushed her too far, until she comes alive, moving out of mourning and into life to gasp at air scented with their joining until she falls back into grief. He moves lower and explores, his tongue and lips finding every inch of skin she will allow him. His teeth score against her collarbone and shoulder, his tongue painting the trail downward to her breasts. They are heavy with milk never to be shed on baby Maria’s tongue and he can taste the strange sweetness to her flesh.

She shivers as his mouth takes her in, his tongue curving over the swell of skin. He suckles them lightly, teeth grazing at the hard nipples before he moves on, his head at her breast too close to a reminder he cannot allow. Her samples the warmth of her stomach, trailing down over the tender skin until he finds the dark tangle of hair between her thighs and must combat the gentle shyness that has not left her, even now that she’s been married and birthed two children. Perhaps it is only right, given that he is not her husband and has no rights to these private pieces of her, but her legs part with little provocation from him, and he eases between them, fingers and tongue roaming free.

There is no noise, but he can hear need and tension sing along her skin. He does not ask if Hornblower touches her, does not mention him at all, but he knows his answer without the question. There is a need in Maria he slakes that no one else does, no one sees. He sees her, beyond what she has to offer and simply what she is. He tastes heat and wet on his tongue and attempts to excise ghosts from her mind by replacing them with pleasure.

Eventually she speaks, a soft cry that echoes through her body, shivering on her skin and in her muscles as she shudders against his tongue. He takes his cue then and moves up, moves inside her, thrusting into her until they are both sweat-drenched and spent, exhausted and weak with satisfaction, until they are heavy with guilt. 

He leaves without a word to her, just a touch at her cheek. She still stares at the ceiling, but when his fingers grace her skin, her eyes close and he knows she sleeps. Her husband will return smelling of smoke and alcohol, of the sea he seeks to lose himself in, waiting for the moment someone tells him that leaving his wife is his duty, and not just his desire.

It will come soon enough. Bush has already heard the murmurs and rumors of a ship, of a mission, and he knows that Hornblower will take it without question, as well as he knows he will follow him onto the deck and leave this, leave her behind.


End file.
